


The Beta

by Endangered_Slug



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Budding Romance, F/M, Fluff, Silly, They are us, what if they met online
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2752028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endangered_Slug/pseuds/Endangered_Slug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle has a budding online relationship with the beta for her fanfic. </p>
<p>A Tumblr prompt from Winterswanderlust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was a really fun prompt but I am ashamed at the fic I posted on Tumblr (full of tense changes and missing words and OMG half-written sentences - I have no excuse). I cleaned it up a bit.

Belle sat on her couch with a glass of wine within reach on one side and her remote on the other. She pulled her laptop over and set it firmly on top of a pillow to keep her legs from heating up and to keep her neck from crimping awkwardly from having to look down for hours on end. It was a nightly ritual when she wasn't studying or working. She'd get comfortable maybe with a glass of cheap wine, maybe with takeout, definitely with some music playing, and then she'd write and write and write.

And wait.

Her beta was on nearly every weeknight, but only after a certain time – never before nine and rarely on the weekends. Belle had stalked his Tumblr account ever since she'd joined the Fairy Tale Land fandom and devoured all the fanfic she could find. There were several wonderful writers, some that should be published professionally in her opinion, but her absolute favorite was The_DarkOne45. His writing was beautiful, poignant and witty, and, through reading, Belle developed a slight crush.

She'd tentatively started writing her own stories – one shots mostly to fill in the gaps the show left open and then a few longer pieces once she'd gained enough confidence to really do the characters justice.

Belle loved The_DarkOne45's way with words and the way they seemed to flow effortlessly from one to the next – a trick she'd never been able to manage herself. Writing for her was a constant struggle to find the perfect words and she always ended up dissatisfied with her stories as they never matched the vivid imagery in her head.

Her latest story was a massive undertaking. She thought to rewrite the first season as an archeological explorers AU. Kind of a cross between Indiana Jones and Fairy Tale Land meets Jumanji. It was silly if you stopped to think about it, but it was a plot bunny that wouldn't go away and she loved the idea. She just didn't know if she could pull it off the way she wanted so she put out a plea for a beta, someone to help her keep track of the various plots and sidelines and keep her commas in check and to her surprise The_DarkOne45 had volunteered. She'd jumped at the chance to work with him. It made her nervous to have someone she admired go over her raw material, but one day, after she had several chapters written and ready to go, she sent them off for his scrutiny with her fingers crossed and her heart in her throat.

That led to their weeknight meetings to go over each other's stories, both the one he edited for her and the one he was currently writing. They talked about the fandom — exchanging theories and talking about their favorite storylines, the inept staff writers that seemed to be neglecting their favorite characters, and what they would like to happen in the next season. They rarely delved deeper than that though Belle was more open about her life than her invisible friend. She told him about her job as an assistant librarian, her father's flower shop, and the reason why she moved thousands of miles away from home.

Belle had written two paragraphs before her computer chimed to let her know she had a message waiting. Her heart leapt with anticipation as she clicked on it.

 

 **The_DarkOne45:** Evening, Dearie. Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long.

 **Bookwyrm:** Hey! Not at all, I was just getting some writing done.

 **The_DarkOne45:** Ah! And how is Beauty and her beast doing tonight?

 **Bookwyrm:** They're cooperating. Though Beauty seems a bit... well, she's just about ready to jump his bones.

 

There was a pause for a few moments before he responded.

 

 **The_DarkOne45:** Can't imagine the Beast will object to that.

 **Bookwym:** If he ever learns to take a hint, yeah.

 

There were a very few things that Belle knew about The_DarkOne45. She knew he was male and that idea made her happy even though she knew it shouldn't matter, she knew he lived on the east coast somewhere up north where it snowed a lot, and she knew her was a very private person. He never posted selfies, rarely gave out personal information, outright refused to Skype, and eschewed chat speak.

 

 **Bookwyrm:** How was your weekend?

 **The_DarkOne45:** It was good. There was a soccer match Saturday and Bae blocked three goals. Total shut out.

 

Belle blinked at the screen. _Bae_? Bae? That was... he had a BAE? A tidal wave of disappointment came over her and she almost shut the laptop to keep from looking at that stupid word.

She swallowed her pride. They had, well, she'd been thinking of them as dates, but there was never anything said between them. There wasn't much more than mild flirting in between post episode breakdowns. Maybe she was nothing more to him than that.

Still, she had to know...

 

 **Bookwrym:** Bae?

 **The_DarkOne45:** Ah. My son. 

 

Belle made a face at her screen.

 

 **Bookwyrm:** You named your son Bae?

 **The_DarkOne45:** It was before internet slang killed the name forever. It's short for Baeden. He prefers his middle name now for obvious reasons but I still call him Bae.

 **Bookwrym:** Why haven't you mentioned him before?

 

She stared at the chat window, waiting for his response but there wasn't any forthcoming. It made sense now why he was never online during the weekends. He was spending his time with his family. The sharp jab of disappointment came back.

 

 **The_DarkOne45:** I don't like to put my personal life online much. You don't know who's watching.

Belle thought of the few carefully curated selfies she'd posted that he never once responded to. Not that she was keeping track or anything. Or posting them deliberately for him in the hopes that he'd notice. That would be ridiculous. And childish.

 

 **Bookwrym:** Or not watching.

 **The_DarkOne45:** I'm sorry?

 **Bookwyrm:** It's nothing. A private joke.

 **The_DarkOne45:** I see.

 **The_DarkOne45:** I've finished editing your last chapter. I think it's a brilliant take on episode 12.

 **Bookwrym:** Thank you! That's my favorite ep. It was difficult to balance the canon material within the jungle setting.

 **The_DarkOne45:** You've achieved it.

 **Bookwrym:** That's a relief! :)

 

Belle didn't know what to say. The phantom presence of a child and, possibly, a wife changed everything. Not for the first time she wondered how old he was. Certainly older than she was if he had a kid old enough to play soccer. She wondered if he coached the team and how he looked in a team jacket. She had a vague image of what he looked like, but that was all conjecture in her mind. She didn't even know the sound of his voice or his first name or anything except that he had a boy named Bae.

 

 **Bookwrym:** Um. Is Bae why you don't come online until later in the evening?

 **The_DarkOne45:** No, I have him on the weekends only. My work keeps me away from the house until late on the weekdays.

 

She was itching to know what he did for a living, why he had his son part time, who he was in real life, but she was mindful of the fact that he was in a rare mood to open up to her and she didn't want to spoil it by asking too many questions. But he was dropping valuable information that she tucked away like precious jewels.

 

 **Bookwyrm:** Weekends only? You must miss him during the week.

 

Or she could take a stick and poke at him.

 

 **The_DarkOne45:** I do. He's the one that got me into this fandom in the first place. We watch Fairy Tale Land together on Sundays and talk about what happened. He gave me my first idea for a story and the rest is history.

 **Bookwyrm:** Does he know you write fanfic?

 **The_DarkOne45:** He teases me about it mercilessly.

 

There was a warm feeling in Belle's chest that grew as she read. There was no way she should let this crush develop into something more, but that was the thing about love. You can't really choose when it happens, it just does. Of its own accord and without permission. She knew she would be in trouble the more she talked to him, the longer she let this editing arrangement go on. There were still at least five more chapters left, surely she would escape from it bruised but standing.

 

 **Bookwrym:** Thank you for telling me about him. It's good that you're able to have that kind of connection with him. And I'm doubly glad that he got you into the fandom.

 **The_DarkOne45:** I am, too. I was apprehensive at first. I feel a bit too old for it, but it's strangely addictive.

 **Bookwyrm:** No one's too old for fandom.

 **The_DarkOne45:** Perhaps.

 

Belle eyed his user name, specifically the number at the end. Could be that obvious? Maybe he was forty-five? But no, the fandom had been around for a few years so he would be older now. Forty-seven or eight. It was on the higher end for their corner of the internet, but not ancient. She wanted to ask what his name was. She wanted to tell him that she liked him and that she enjoyed talking to him for the past few weeks.

Her fingers hovered over her keyboard as she debated what to say.

 

 **The_DarkOne45:** I have an early morning tomorrow. I'll talk to you later?

 **Bookwyrm:** I'll be here. Thank you again for editing the chapter. I'll send you the changes sometime this week.

 **The_DarkOne45:** Not tomorrow? Tuesdays are your day off.

 **Bookwrym:** No, a couple of us are going to hit up some of the antique shops along the coast.

 **The_DarkOne45:** Antiquing? I hope you find something good.

 **Bookwrym:** Me, too. But this state is full of old treasures. I'll take some pictures if I find anything interesting. 

**The_DarkOne45:** I'd like that.

 **The_DarkOne45:** Goodnight.

 **Bookwrym:** 'night!

 

Belle closed the laptop with a sigh and set it aside, thinking about everything she'd learned about him that evening. The most important thing, perhaps, was that he was beginning to trust her with himself and, perhaps, her feelings were a little less one-sided than she thought.

She got up from the couch and headed to her closet. She'd promised pictures and she wasn't above planning a cute outfit to wear now that she knew he would want to see them.


	2. Chapter 2

Tuesday started out drizzling, but by lunch time, the sun had come out, warming up the air and shining down on the battered hatchback that just entered the rain-kissed, sleepy town of Storybrooke.

Belle and her friends had spent the morning hopping from one small antique store to another, taking the scenic route along the coast and their stomachs were beginning to protest. They slowly drove down the main street keeping an eye out for a restaurant in which they could all agree upon when Belle, sitting in the back seat, grabbed at Leroy's shoulder.

“Stop here!” she cried out and, before anyone could protest, she scrambled out of the back without waiting for her friend to lean the seat forward. “I need to look at this.”

Leroy rolled down the window as Astrid leaned over his lap from the passenger side. “It's closed, Belle. There's nothing for you to look at. And you're not allowed to steal the books. We didn't bring enough money to bail you out of jail,” he said with a cocky smirk.

She made a face at them. “I see that it's closed,” she said. “I just want to take a look around.” She glanced around the street a bit. “And then I can go to that shop across the street.” She pointed it out to her friends. “You guys go ahead, I'll see you in an hour.”

Astrid reached into the back seat and grabbed her purse. Leroy took it from her and handed it to Belle. “Fine. We'll go back to that fish and chips place we passed by the harbor.”

“Mmm. Yeah, make that an hour and a half then?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Sure thing, sister,” Leroy said as he cranked the window back up. “Call us when you're done snooping!” he called out as he put the car into gear and did a hasty U-turn.

She waved them off half-heartedly, her attention already on the run down library before her. It was boarded up and the paint was chipping, but she discovered small gaps between the newspaper covering the windows and given enough scrutiny, she could tell that the place, while outdated and certainly dusty, had potential. It still had full shelves, for goodness's sake. How could a town let its library close, she wondered as she peered through every window she could reach. There wasn't any contact information posted, but she could easily find it online if she looked. And she would definitely make inquiries.

She snapped a picture of the sign and sent it to her Instagram account, debating whether to get lunch first or shop around a bit. The shop was closer than the diner she'd noticed on her way into town and that decided her.

She'd browse Mr. Gold's Antiquities and Pawn Shop and then grab a slice of pie.

  
  


——————————————

  
  


Mr Gold's phone beeped, alerting him to a new post on Bookwyrm's Instagram. He'd been getting alerts periodically throughout the day, shamelessly living vicariously through the pictures she shared. He would feel bad about it,but it was a public account, which she shared with the entire world. So far that day she'd taken pictures of whatever had caught her fancy: a taxidermied jackalope wearing a tuxedo jacket and holding a pipe, a set of antique silverware tarnished with age, a lobster trap that may or may not have had lobster bits still in it, a bowl of Japanese glass floats, and, his favorite, one selfie featuring her beautiful, smirking face and a Starbucks coffee cup (#S _elfie_ #C _affeineIsMyFirstLove)_.

He just fished the phone out of his pocket and glanced at the picture when he felt the air whoosh out of his chest.

It was a picture of the Storybrooke Free Library (#C _losed_ #S _oSad_ #N _ewProject_?) just across the street. Just across his street. She was actually _here_ in Storybrooke. He looked up quickly hoping to catch a glimpse of her through the window before she left town when the bell over his door jingled and she, the very she he was spying on, Bookwrym herself, walked into his shop like a ray of sunshine.

His usual greeting died on his lips as he took his first look at her in person. He nearly stumbled, but caught himself against the counter before anything truly embarrassing occurred. He'd seen pictures of her, of course, but they didn't do her justice. He didn't expect her to be so pretty in real life. He thought perhaps the filters she used made her seem ethereal, but the truth of her beauty left him breathless. Her eyes were a blue he'd only ever seen once before during a short trip to the Caribbean decades ago. She was also much tinier than he'd expected... as was her skirt.

He gulped when he realized that, though she was small in stature, her legs were very much indecently long. Everything about her surprised him. A part of him didn't want to think that she was real. He liked to think of her as an invisible friend, nonjudgemental and waiting for him every night in his computer, and to be so abruptly faced with her reality threw his world off kilter.

He recovered quickly, his eyes never leaving her face. “Good afternoon.”

She beamed at him. “Hey! You must be Mr. Gold.”

Her smile was infectious and he caught himself smiling back with amusement — her accent had caught him off-guard. It didn't occur to him that Bookwym would be an immigrant just as he was.

“I am,” he said, enjoying the way his own brogue, lighter than it was before he came to the States, made her eyes widen in surprise. “Is there something I can help you with?”

She tilted her head a bit as she considered him. “No. Well, yes. I'm here to look around, but I was wondering about the library across the street, too. How long has it been closed?”

“Ah, yes. The mayor shut that down about five years ago. It's, uh, been empty ever since.”

Her face fell. “Why did they close it?”

He shrugged. “The mayor didn't think it was prudent to keep it open. You see we're a small town with little growth—”

“But the place is surrounded by forests and nearly every other town along the coast have new developments.” She let out a breath of frustration. “I don't understand.”

“The forests are protected,” he explained. “It's part of the appeal of living here. It keeps the community small and close-knit, but it does have a side effect. Not a whole lot of room for new families means no real growth and not very much tax revenue coming in... Well, the library wasn't the only program cut.”

“I see. That's a shame.” She looked out the window at the empty building before shaking herself out of her reverie with a rueful smile. “I'm sorry, I'm a librarian myself so I kind of take a professional interest in it.” She held out her hand to him. “I'm Belle French.”

He grasped her small hand, noticing with pleasure how his hand dwarfed hers. She had a firm handshake and her fingers were soft. He resisted the urge to stroke her knuckles with his thumb and released her hand before he could do something foolish.

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss French,” he said with all honesty.

She gave him a small smile before gesturing to his shop. “Is it okay if I look around? I don't have to meet my friends for another hour and your place is full of interesting things.”

He blinked, taken aback a bit. What kind of shop wouldn't encourage browsers? “Of course,” he said, biting back a smile. “Let me know if you need anything.”

She thanked him with another blinding smile and strolled towards a set of first editions he had on display in a glass case. He wandered back to the register, determined on keeping busy so as not to stare too much, but he couldn't help when his eyes strayed to her time and again as she wandered about the shop. The dilemma of telling her who he really was was weighing on him. He should say something, but... he glanced down at himself, the overwhelming feeling of being a disappointment overtaking his common sense. Belle would be polite, of course, but he didn't want to see the look on her face when she when she learned that her internet friend was a middle-aged man. No doubt she held an image in her head of what he might look like and he held no qualms about the fact that anything she could dream up would be the exact opposite of what he really was.

Eventually, he gravitated towards her, too curious about what she was doing to stay away.

Belle was fiddling with her phone for a moment with an in intense look of concentration on her face.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

She glanced up at him briefly. “Trying to crop it a bit. I promised someone pictures today.”

He looked at the glass mobile then back at her. “And you think this will interest her?”

“Him,” she corrected under her breath as she hit send. “Um... I don't know actually. But I found it interesting and it's my account.” She gave him a proper smile then. “I'll find out later!”

His lips quirked. “I guess so.”

Half a minute later his phone alerted him to a new message. Belle politely waited for him to look at it, but he just stood there.

“Aren't you going to get that?”

He shook his head slightly. “Not while there are customers in the shop. Deplorable business practice.”

“I don't mind,” she said, holding up her own phone as proof. “It may be important.”

“If it is then they would call.”

“Okay. Do you mind if I take more pictures? Your shop is lovely.”

He held out a hand as if to usher her into a ballroom. “Help yourself. If you want to see something closer just let me know.”

“Thank you. I should probably tell you I can't buy anything expensive.”

“You don't have to buy anything at all. But the offer stands. If you want me to take something out of a display that's... doable.”

He busied himself by the register, scribbling half-heartedly in his ledger but kept an eye on her progress as she roamed around the store, phone in hand taking pictures of whatever she fancied. A few she deemed worthy enough to send to her Instagram account, the unicorn mobile for one, an antique pair of binoculars caught her eye and they were picked up, fondled, and photographed with meticulous attention to detail. Every few moments a beep would come from his own phone in his pocket but he steadily ignored it and Belle was so engrossed in the merchandise that she didn't seem to notice after the first one.

She paused at the pair of wooden puppets hanging on their stand, looking at them with horrified fascination.

“These are terrible,” she said, her mouth pursed in distaste.

He chuckled a bit and came closer, reaching out with a well-manicured finger to stroke the linen shirt of the male puppet. “They really are ugly aren't they? However, they are masterfully done by an Italian artist over two hundred years ago. Tastes have changed since then so allowances must be made.”

“I dunno,” she said, uncertainly. “It's nightmare fuel to me. I'll probably lie awake all night thinking they followed me home.”

She hit send on her phone then walked over to a tea set.

His phone beeped.

He closed his eyes, wishing he's turned the phone off before he opened the store today. Except he'd been expecting photos of Bookwym's day trip, but then Bookwym transformed into Belle and now he was stuck literally advertising that he was creeping on her.

He cleared his throat softly and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Maybe he could silence the phone without making it obvious.

Except his phone was in his inner suit pocket. Damn it.

He took his hands back out lest he giver her the wrong impression and then he didn't know what to do with his them. They didn't feel so heavy and useless before, why did they just hang there like bags of meat now?

“This is beautiful,” she said, picking up a porcelain cup and running a delicate finger over the gold edging. “It's simple and elegant.”

“Yes, that's a new acquisition. There was an estate sale a few weeks ago,” he said, happy to have any distraction now that he was a nervous ball of energy. He could tell her about anything in his shop with great detail — except for himself, of course.e picked up one of the matching cups and turned it over in his hands, displaying the stamp on the bottom. “It's fine china and hand painted. If you hold it up, you'll be able to see the light shine through it a bit. Very well made. I was glad to get a complete set.”

“How much are you asking?” she said, as she held the cup up to a sunbeam. The light shone through perfectly.

For her? The next chapter she was writing? Free? “Um... I, haven't priced it yet.” he hedged, hoping to stem the flood of stupid words he wanted to utter.  
“Why have it on display then?”

“I like to look at pretty things,” he stated, simply.

She took a picture of the cup in her hand and sent it off to the great void. She kept the cup in her hand as she walked along the display, stopping only when his phone beeped again. Something seemed to click and she slowly turned to look at him.

“You've been getting a lot of messages,” she said, her eyes narrowed in thought.

“Mmmm.”

She pulled out her phone, scrolled to a random picture and sent it, her eyes never leaving his face.

His phone beeped like something from an Edgar Allen Poe story. The Tell Tale Phone. Belle dropped the cup she'd been holding as he brought out his mobile with a shaking hand. The cup was damaged now, with a chip along its rim. Gold didn't care.

She was quiet for a moment as she thought it over.

He hoped she wouldn't connect the dots. He hoped he wouldn't screw this up too badly.

“You're The_DarkOne45 aren't you?” she said quietly.

He nodded. If he kept his mouth shut, he wouldn't say something ridiculous. It was his best plan.

“You know who I am?”

He nodded again, knowing his plan wasn't going to work by a long shot.

“You weren't going to say anything?” she asked incredulously. “You were seriously going to let me walk out without telling me?”

“Well, I didn't know if you would want me to or not.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Why _wouldn't_ I want to meet you?”

“Bo— _Belle_. Look, I wanted to keep my real life separate from my online life. I can't let the two intertwine.”

She blinked, hurt crossing her features. “Okay. Well, yes, I can understand that, Mr. Gold. You're a businessman and a father, well respected in your community. Being active in an online fandom is probably something you want to keep quiet. I probably seem like some weirdo to you.”

“No. Belle, look at me. I'm a middle-aged, handicapped, divorced man who frequently chats up a much younger, twenty-something—”

“I'm twenty-seven,” she muttered.

“And I'm forty-eight. If anyone is the... weirdo, it would be me.”

“I don't think you're a weirdo.”

“And I don't think you're a weirdo.”

“So, what's the problem?”

“The problem is online I'm... liked.”

“You think I won't like you if we were to, say, go to that diner across the way and chat over hamburgers?”

“And what would we talk about?” he said with exasperation, frustrated at his inability to explain himself fully. This was why he preferred being online in the first place. “Fairy Tale Land episodes? Character development? We have nothing in common.”

She frowned at him. “How do you know that? We did quite well this afternoon before your phone tipped me off that you were following my Instagram.” Her eyes widened in shock. “Oh my god, you've been following my Instagram account! You've never once said anything!” she accused.

“Must I remind you that I am desperately trying not to come off as a stalker?”

She stared in horror at her phone. “Oh my _god_.”

“What?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before shaking her head helplessly. “Nothing. I'm already embarrassed, what's one more thing?” She looked at him sadly. “Look, I'll make things a lot less awkward. Let me pay for the cup I broke and I'll go.” She reached into her purse and started digging for her wallet. “How much do I owe you, Mr. Gold?”

“It's just a cup.”

“I broke it.”

“I have insurance.”

She stood there with her wallet in her hand, grocery receipts hanging out of it like trailing ribbons. “Okay,” she said finally, stuffing the wallet back into her purse and hoisting it onto her shoulder. She set the chipped cup the counter, staring at it for a moment before looking at him, blinking back unshed tears. “It was very nice meeting you anyway.” She turned on her ridiculous heels and walked out the door, the bell jangling as the door closed behind her.

He cursed and walked to the window, watching her head to the harbor.

He pulled out his phone and checked his messages. There were twelve alerts from her account and, instead of going after her as he wanted, he clicked on the first one. It was a close up of one of the unicorns on the mobile, _#Pretty_ # _Mobile_ # _Pointy_. He smiled to himself as he went through her pictures, enjoying her unique view of his shop and her hashtag abuse _#Puppets #NightmareFuel #Binoculars #Exquisite #Detail #Teaset._ It was an interesting perspective until he came to one she had taken of him standing off to the side of his register. She was so sneaky about it, he didn't even notice she had taken one of him.

_#Sexy #SuitPorn #HairPorn #SilverFox #Gorgeous #Yes #I'llTakeHim #DearGod #HeHasAnAccent #OvaryExplosion_

He stared at his phone, her rapid departure suddenly clear to him. His heart raced when he realized fully what had just happened. He'd met someone he'd admired for months then smashed any chance for a real relationship to pieces. She would surely block him from contacting her again.

He picked up the tea set and brought it back with him. Even if the cup wasn't broken there was no way he could part with it now.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Belle stomped towards the docks in a huff looking out for her friends. She felt so stupid. So childish and naïve and... _stupid_. She wished she had never come on this trip, that she'd stayed home and kept her illusions intact. Meeting someone she'd only known as a username and an icon before was bound to come with a little letdown, but she didn't expect to feel outright _dropped_.

There was no sign of Leroy or Astrid or the hatchback and the smell of the harbor was beginning to irritate her nose. She stopped, debating the merits of walking back the way she came, slinking past Mr. Gold's shop, or continuing on. Either one was bound to make her uncomfortable, she just needed to decide which one was worse.  
  
"Belle! Belle, please, wait!"  
  
She turned slowly, watching as Mr. Gold came around the corner as fast as he could, which was pretty fast considering he had a cane. He was probably used it it, she thought.

He stopped to let a car pass by then crossed the street, hurrying to her side with a look that clearly said I-fucked-up-and-I-don't-know-how-to-fix-it. Belle cursed to herself knowing that she was going to give in to whatever he said if he kept it up. He stared at her, breathing heavily for a moment before he realized that he was still holding the cup she'd chipped. He hastily put it in his pocket.

"Yes, Mr. Gold?"  
  
"I'm sorry, Belle. That was inexcusable of me. I... I don't know what to say. I panicked and—"  
  
Belle stared at him in confusion while he was stumbling over his words, wondering how someone so eloquent online could turn into a jumble of nerves in real life and then she realized. Oh.

She took his hand in hers, squeezing it gently as she looked up at him. "Look, it's alright. I understand you weren't mentally prepared to meet me like that. Sometimes people just don't do well face to face, I get it. I just... Well, I've been wanting to meet you for a while now and…" She bit her lip, hesitant to say the rest.  
  
"And?"  
  
"I wish I'd stayed home," she whispered.

His shoulders slumped and his face dropped in dismay.  
  
She noticed the phone clutched in his hand. "I take it you saw my photos," she asked, tugging at his hand gently.  
  
He flushed, abashed. "N-ye-es. Yes, I did."  
  
"Is that why you came to get me?"  
  
"No! Belle, no. I wanted to apologize. I'm sorry."  
  
She nodded her head, hiking her purse back on to her shoulder. “Yeah, it's fine. Next time I'll give you twenty-four hours notice,” she said with a wink.

He gave her a shy smile, uncertain if she was serious and when she didn't say anything else he forged ahead. "I was wondering, if you still wanted to grab something to eat? And we can talk,” he said, cautiously.  
  
Belle looked over her shoulder at the cluster of stalls on the pier. Her friends were out there somewhere. They were safe and wouldn't do anything to hurt her. Still, Mr. Gold looked sincere and he came after her... That had to count for something. She gave him a small smile in return. "I'd like that."  
  
"Good,” he sighed in relief. “Come on, I don't recommend the pier since you're allergic to fish."  
  
Belle stopped short. “How do you know that?  
  
He looked at her like she was slightly bonkers. “You told me once.”  
  
“And you remembered?” None of her friends cared to remember when they were in the mood for fish, but one off-hand remark online and he _remembered_?  
  
“It's a pretty significant detail,” he said reasonably. “It's not like I keep a spreadsheet with information about you.”  
  
“I'm— wait, I can't tell if you're joking without the little emojis. Do you have a spreadsheet about me? Because that _would_ be weird.”  
  
“No, of course not. But I have a good memory for details and life-threatening allergies is an easy one to remember.”  
  
“O-kay. So, hamburgers at Granny's then?” she asked, remembering her earlier plan.  
  
He gave her a devastating smile. “Actually, I think I can do better.”  
  
Half an hour later Belle found herself having a picnic with The_DarkOne45 inside the Storybrooke Public Library.  
  
“I can't believe you were able to get the keys to this place.  
  
“I called a favor,” he said with a shrug. “It wasn't difficult.” He hesitated before pouring out the fries onto the paper bag they were using as a placemat. “Is this okay?”  
  
She gestured for him to go for it and took a bite of her burger while he arranged the fries to his liking.

“The building is in great shape, really. Dusty, of course, but that's easily taken care of." She looked at him thoughtfully. "I have a few ideas on how we can get this library back in business."  
  
"Already?” he asked, impressed. “Just like that?" he asked waving a hand in the air.  
  
She licked some ketchup off her lip as she smiled at him. "I'm a problem solver and a grant writer. It's part of my job. Do you think the city can come up with enough money to have the library open say... three days a week?"  
  
He gave it some thought as he chewed. "I think Regina would put up a fuss,” he said when he swallowed. “But the truth is, closing the library hurt her politically and elections are coming up...”  
  
She grinned at him, leaning over conspiratorially. “November is coming up really fast, I'll get started on my proposal when I get home.”  
  
"Do you think we'll be able to hire a part time librarian, though? We're not exactly on the way to anything."  
  
“No need for that. I'll do it.”  
  
“You will?”  
  
“Of course! At least until the library is on its feet again.”  
  
“But your other job?”  
  
“This _is_ my job. I can cut my hours down at the Portland branch and drive up here Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays — Storybrooke really isn't that far. I can train volunteers to help me run it during my off hours. The high school probably has a work program that might be able to send a few students, or some stay at home moms who want to get out a bit. I can think of a dozen ways to make this work.”  
  
One significant detail stuck out to him. "Portland? That close?”  
  
“It's funny how that worked out isn't it?” she said.  
  
He smiled at her shyly. “Yeah.”  
  
“Would it be okay if...”  
  
“We met again?”  
  
"Yeah.”  
  
"I think that would be wonderful. Besides, you'll need my help.”

“Oh? Pillar of the community and all that?” she teased.

“I'm on the city council,” he said, lifting his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh. _Oh_!” she said, leaning back in her seat. “That's actually really helpful!”  
“I can be sometimes,” he said with a half-smile.  
  
She hummed as she took a sip of her iced tea than sat up straight with a start. "Oh wait! Wait! Now I know where I've seen those creepy dolls before! To Be or Not To Be. I'm so stupid, I should have recognized them," she said, throwing a fry at him.  
  
"You read that?" he said, picking the fry off his lap and brushing off the salt.  
  
"I've read everything you've written,” she said, poking at him with a finger. “I know I've gushed to you online before."  
  
He scratched an ear in embarrassment, looking down at his half-eaten lunch, glancing at her ever few seconds until he was able to speak without stuttering. "Interesting choice of words. You said that you've seen them. So you're a more visual person?"  
  
"Well, you know how I like my descriptions and dialogue is a weak point with me."  
  
“I don't think you're weak at all, but it does explain why you can go on for paragraphs about the way a book smells."  
  
“Too much?” she asked, sheepishly.  
  
“Not at all. I'm impressed really. I'm the opposite. I can write dialogue all day, but descriptions are hard.”  
  
“I never would have guessed. The way you wrote about the beast's lair left me breathless.”  
  
He gave her a half-smile, obviously pleased but unsure of how to continue talking about something he normally kept to himself. "That, um, took a long time to write. And I need to physically have an object before me, or I guess have a very clear picture in my head, you know? I'm much better at hearing characters talk."  
  
“So how many items in your shop wind up in your stories?”  
  
He chuckled, looking away. The light filtered in through the gaps of newspaper covering the window shone down on them like mini-spotlights, dust motes dancing in the air.

“Lots of things. The puppets obviously. There are... There's a candelabra, a kris knife, a hand mirror... I have a spinning wheel in the back,” he said, with a pleased look.  
  
“Really?” she asked perking up. “Do you know how to spin?"  
  
He nodded, laughing to himself. “Very badly. I watched some You Tube videos and now I'm in possession of about twenty skeins of the ugliest, fattest yarn you've ever seen. But I wanted to know how to do it so I could write about it. Even though I skipped the really boring technical bits," he said after a thought.  
  
“I'd love to see it,” she prodded  
  
“The spinning wheel? Maybe I can show you sometime,” he said quietly, looking back down at his hands.

  
  


  
  


When Belle got home, she put her purchases down, including the tea set that Mr. Gold had given to her after they closed the library back up – minus the chipped cup. He'd mumbled something about not wanting her to cut her lip, but insisted on gifting the set to her as a thank you for not punching him in the face. It was an odd gesture, but Belle appreciated it.

Dinner didn't interest her, so after changing into some more comfortable clothes and pouring a glass of wine, she flopped onto her couch and pulled her laptop over, preparing for her nightly ritual of writing, watching TV and talking with The_DarkOne45. They didn't make plans to meet online after work, but they normally chatted so she just assumed he would be there after he closed up shop. In the meantime she would get started on writing up her proposal for the Storybrooke Library.

She turned her computer on and then, while she waited, took her phone and deleted the picture she'd posted of Mr. Gold earlier. She'd felt guilty ever since she learned who he really was, and, it was a foolish thing to do even if he remained a stranger. Next time she'll get his permission to post his picture.

Almost immediately her computer pinged at her and, to her surprise, The_DarkOne45 was already online.

 **The_DarkOne45:** You there?

 **Bookwyrm:** Yeah! Hey. I just got home a bit ago.

 **The_DarkOne45:** Good day?

 **Bookwyrm:** It was interesting. I made a new friend and got a tea set.

 **Bookwyrm:** And a few books at a competitor's shop in the next town over. Sorry.

 **The_DarkOne45:** Skype?

  
  


Belle stared at that for a moment in disbelief, her fingers hovering over the keyboard in shock.

  
  


**The_DarkOne45:** Belle?

 **Bookwrym:** I'm here! Yes.

 **The_DarkOne45:** Yes to Skype or just yes in general?

 **Bookwyrm:** To Skype. I would like that.

  
  


She sent him her contact information and within a few seconds she was staring at Mr. Gold sitting in what must have been the backroom to his shop.

He'd taken off his jacket and was wearing shirt garters on his sleeves. Belle stared at them wondering where he even found a useable pair. She added that item to her mental turn-on list, amazed at how the tiniest, most obscure, most ridiculous detail could make her feel deliciously uncomfortable.

“Belle?”

She shook her head. “Yes? Sorry! I was, um, distracted by your back room. What is that?” she said, squinting her eyes as she peered at her monitor. “Is that a bed?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Sometimes I wind up sleeping here if I work too late.”

She blinked, not knowing what to say. It sounded incredibly lonely. “Um, it's a bit like Aladdin's cave isn't it?”

“It is at that,” he said with a grin. “But what I wanted to show you was this.” He scooted to the side, out of the way, to show the spinning wheel that was in back of him. He arm reached back into the shot and gave the wheel a spin with a light “whrrrrrrrrrrrrr”.

“You really do have a spinning wheel! Are you going to spin for me?”

He came back into the picture. “You wouldn't be bored?” he asked.

She shook her head and held up her glass of wine. “Nope. I'll be well entertained.”

He smirked at her, then looked over his shoulder. “I seem to have some roving left. Enough for a quick demonstration at least,” he said, rolling his chair back and swiveling until he was facing the wheel.

Belle watched him flex his fingers, limbering them up before he started undoing the knot in his tie, pulling at it in short, matter-of-fact jerks until he was able to slide it from his collar completely — “Don't want to get it caught,” he said with a self-deprecating smile — and she put her wine down before she dribbled it down her chin.

Today was full of revelations it seemed and Belle squirmed in her seat as she watched him in his preparations. He was explaining the technical aspects of the spinning wheel as he rolled up his sleeves, his voice washing over her until she was nearly lulled into a stupor. She tried to concentrate on what he was doing, but there was no way she could focus when as she watched the way his strong forearms flexed or how his fingers worked the soft roving, twirling it with deft fingers as the wheel spun and spun and spun. Watching him work was mesmerizing and her feelings for him upgraded from a light online crush to—

“Belle?” he asked, looking at her with concern.

“I'm here!” she said, mentally kicking herself.

“You zoned out there. I knew this would be too boring,” he said, stopping the wheel with fingers she knew to be calloused and rough and nimble.

She needed another drink.

“Noooooo, that was not boring at all,” she reassured him with a guilty smile. “You, um, you need to teach me.”

"I'm hardly an expert,” he said, frowning at the yarn he produced.

“I thought it was wonderful,” she told him, truthfully. She grabbed her wine and took a sip. “I wanna be a spinning wheel when I grow up,” she mumbled into her glass.

“What was that?”

She looked up, blushing and she racked her brain trying to think of a reply. Her eyes fell on her notes for the library. “I, uh, I'm getting started on the grant. Is it okay if I come up on Thursday and we can go over some paperwork or would you rather we handle everything online?”

“Thursday is perfect,” he said, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I'll be here.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

The next day dragged by slowly with Belle stared at the clock willing it to move faster. Work was tedious and she became irritated over the slightest things that normally wouldn't faze her. She knew it was nerves and that she was being ridiculous so she plastered on her best librarian smile and forced herself to be polite to her patrons while they asked the most inane questions ever thought of by mankind.

That afternoon Belle spoke to her supervisor about her plans for the Storybrooke library and together they worked out a schedule that would allow her to commute from Portland without too much trouble. It took some shuffling with schedules, but at last they came up with something they could both work with.

“I admire what you're doing, Belle,” she said as they finished. “My only concern is that you won't have a day off between your job here and the one in Storybrooke."

“Well, it's not a done deal yet. I still have to get permission from the city and find money to operate the place,” Belle said, glancing at the figures on her paperwork one more time though she was sure her math was correct.

“That won't be a problem. I remember when it closed,” Beryl said, leaning back in her chair with a grimace. “There was an outcry, but of course, we all had to deal with our own budget concerns. Your proposal is good and I feel that there will be plenty of interest once you get things going.”

“That's the plan.”

“Have you taken stock of the inventory?”

“I was inside it yesterday but I didn't get a chance to go over everything,” she said, conveniently leaving out the impromptu picnic she'd had with Mr. Gold. “The building is sound and dry though, so there shouldn't be any problems with mildew. And I have the support of one of the city council members.”

Her boss looked impressed. “You do? Which one?”

“Um, his name is Mr. Gold,” she said, looking away. She could feel herself blushing and she felt silly for it. There was no reason to feel this excited over the mention of his name.

Beryl dropped the pen she was holding with a clatter. “ _Gold_!” she hissed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Mr. Gold said he'd help me. Why? Do you know him?” She felt a jab of jealousy go through her. Her boss was about Gold's age... Did they know each other socially or professionally? Was there a past?

“And what price did he extract from you?” she asked with distaste.

“What are you talking about? He hasn't asked for anything.” She'd never even heard of him until Tuesday, why was her boss so hostile all of a sudden?

Beryl scoffed. “Really? He will, you can be sure of that. He's notorious for his bad deals. All about the money, that one.”

Belle scrunched up her face in thought. There was nothing said about money between Gold and herself except for the grant she was finalizing and the allocation from the town. Nothing Beryl said to her made sense.

“Look, if you insist on going forward after this, if this turns into a scam or some sort of money grab for Mr. Gold, then you are welcome to pick up your hours here if you need to. I'm sure we could work something out.”

“That won't be necessary,” Belle said firmly. “Mr. Gold and I have an understanding.” Well, she thought they did. Nothing was mentioned, but he did say he'd help. Maybe he could have been more clear about what that help would be. The_DarkOne45 would never do anything horrible to her, she was sure of that, but she didn't know Mr. Gold as well. His professional life was a mystery to her. She hated her boss a little bit for planting those seeds of doubt. Everything was fine until she opened her mouth.

Beryl shrugged off her concern and turned to some papers in dismissal, leaving Belle to stare at her in disbelief. “Fine. Just let me know the interest rate he lands you with in the end so I know how much damage has been done. I'm going on record to say that this library will not be responsible for any debt incurred. It's all on your shoulders, Belle,” she warned. “You're going to burn out and then owe a massive amount of money.”

Belle absolutely did not stomp out of the office nor did she slam the door, but she wanted to. A tantrum would have been very satisfying and she understood why three year-olds had them so often. Mr. Gold, while reserved, would have been up front about any money concerns he had. Beryl was grossly mistaken about him, that was all.

The rest of her day was spent going over the conversation in her head while she went about her usual work, wondering if she should text Mr. Gold so he could set her mind at ease, but how would she word it? There was just no good way to ask, “Hey, my boss thinks you're a selfish, money hungry prick, what say you?” without a good explanation and they hadn't reached that level of friendship yet.

Checking her email when she got home to find a rude, anonymous review cinched her bad mood and she almost went straight to bed except she still had a ton of paperwork to do. She was tired, hungry, irritated, and she wanted to punch a wall in frustration. She wanted to go off on the anon for being a dick and she wanted to shout at her boss for saying mean things about her friend. She wanted food, but she didn't want to cook and she didn't want to wait for delivery and she just got home — there was no way she was leaving her apartment again. Maybe if it was on fire. A handful of goldfish would have to tide her over until she made a decision about real food.

“AGGGGGHHHHHH!”

She angrily stripped off her work clothes, flinging them towards her hamper and pulled on her sleep clothes. She could work until she passed out and tomorrow would be a better day. She washed off her makeup and tied up her hair off her face, then moved her laptop and paperwork onto her bed and climbed in after it, but the thought of taking work to bed again — her steadiest and least satisfying partner— was starting to depress her more than it ever had before.

This day officially sucked.

The sound of her computer pinging stopped her from having a mini-meltdown.

 

**The_DarkOne45:** Hey.

 

She stared bleary-eyed at her screen. Talking to him was normally the highlight of her day, but she was completely drained of energy. There was nothing left. Still, they needed to finalize plans for tomorrow. She heaved a deep sigh then let it out slowly, inching her fingers closer to the keyboard until they touched the keys by the time she was out of breath, willing herself to get through the rest of the evening.

 

 

**The_DarkOne45:** Belle?

**Bookwym:** ooi;kln,

**The_DarkOne45:** Did you get a cat?

**Bookwrym:** no. long day. im tired

**The_DarkOne45:** Do you want to talk about it?

**Bookwyrm:** no

**The_DarkOne45:** Shall I let you go so you can rest?

**Bookwyrm:** no, that's fine. we need to discuss this stuff

**The_DarkOne45:** Are you sure? Everything can wait until tomorrow.

**Bookwyrm** : skype. Dont wan tto tyep

**Bookwyrm:** type

 

 

She waited until she saw his anxious face popped up on her monitor before ex-ing out of the chat. He wasn't in the back of the shop, but in some place warm and filled with books. Not the library, maybe his house. She smiled gently at the thought of him having a room filled with books at his home. It seemed fitting somehow.

“Hey,” he said, his brows furrowing a bit as he looked at her with concern.

“Hey,” she said letting out a big yawn that came from nowhere and felt like it was going to break her face in half. “Sorry. I have no energy today,” she said as she slumped further down.

“That's okay, we all have our slow days. Is there anything the matter?”

Belle sighed and looked at the paperwork next to her. “No, not really. I'm almost done with this stuff, but my boss was being...” she trailed off. This would be a great time to ask him about Beryl's accusations but she was too drained to deal with it. She didn't even know what to say.

“Belle, listen. You've done an enormous amount of work in the past two days. I've written grants before and I know it's not the most stimulating thing in the world. It's not something you can do in one day. Take a break.”

“No, I want to get this done. I need to get the library up and running.”

“Why?”

She couldn't answer him. At first it was a matter of course that she would reopen the library, but then her boss had ultimately issued a challenge this afternoon and she was still smarting. Not to mention the insult to her friend. “It's just something I have to do,” she said. “I should get this processed before the end of the fiscal year.”

“Well, sure, October is coming up fast.” He looked like he wanted to say something more, but he stopped when she gave another yawn. He seemed tired himself and Belle wondered if he was having a difficult time on his end with the mayor.

“I got a bad review, too,” she blurted out, feeling stupid and petty once she said it out loud. A bad review on her story wasn't nearly as horrible as the bad review from her boss about her friend, but she didn't want to mention it.

His face was adorable when he scrunched his face like he'd misheard something. “Who would do that? Your writing is perfect.”

That earned a tiny smile from her. “I don't know, some anonymous person.”

“Is this your first one?” he asked.

“No, I get them every once in a while. It's not big deal, I just ignore them, but today it was like the cherry on top of the...” she faded off, not having enough brain power to find the right words.

“Shit sandwich?” he asked with a wry smile.

She chuckled. “Yeah.”

“Fuck them.”

Her eyes widened in gleeful shock. “What?”

“Fuck. Them,” he said slowly, annunciating each word clearly and if Belle hadn't been turned on by his accent before, hearing those words from his mouth turned her insides into jelly. “Anyone who hides behind their anonymity doesn't deserve your consideration. Fuck them.”

She smiled at him, feeling a bit better. “They're jerks.”

“ _Fuckheads_ ,” he said, with a wicked smirk.

“Fuckheads.”

“Stupid wanker.”

She giggled at him. “Stupid wanker.”

“Better?” he asked, barely keeping his smile in check. He looked at her warmly and for the first time that day she felt as if she had a friend in her corner.

“Mmm, yes. Hang on,” she told him, setting her computer to the side. She grabbed the paperwork then crawled to the edge of the bed to dump it on her nightstand. “There. I'll finish the grant tomorrow.” Straightening up, she dug her legs underneath the fluffy blanket, pulling it up to her chest.

“There,” she said with satisfaction, pulling her computer back onto her knees.

“W-where are you,” he asked. His voice sounded as if he'd swallowed a cheese grater.

“I'm in my bedroom. I was going to work until I passed out, but I prefer talking to you. Why? Where are you? That's not your shop.”

“No, I'm in my office at the house.”

“That sounds nice.”

“I was going through the town charter to read over what it said about funds for the library.”

She perked up. “And?”

He shook his head. “And you said you'd finish work tomorrow.”

“I—”

“Everything can wait until tomorrow. The library will be here. I will be here.”

“And I will be there,” she said, shyly.

“And you will be here,” he agreed, his eyes softening.

Belle heard a soft woof off screen and tilted her head at him. “What was that?”

Gold laughed a bit, quietly, and looked down towards his feet. He bent down out of view then came back up with an armful of a brownish, shaggy dog of questionable parentage. Its legs flopped over Gold's arms as he raised his head to sniff at his chin with a shiny, black nose.

Belle blinked, charmed at the sight of Gold trying to avoid the dog's tongue and failing spectacularly.

“This is Cuddles MacFlufferson,” Gold said with a straight face, his accent giving weight to the ridiculous name.

“Seriously?” she asked, sputtering out a laugh.

His lips quirked up in a smile he was trying to hide. “Bae named him. I just call him Scooter.” He boosted the dog a bit more so it would fit in his lap. Scooter panted at the monitor giving Belle a screen full of dog nose and an earful of snuffles.

“He's adorable,” she said, feeling the weight of her day lifting from her shoulders. She scooted down some more, moving her laptop over so she could lie on her side and talk.

Gold looked at her, softly. “I should let you get some sleep.”

“In a bit, I'm just getting comfortable.” She tucked one hand under her cheek and sighed gently. She could feel her eyes growing heavy with sleep, but she stubbornly watched the loving look on Gold's face as he scratched Scooter behind a floppy ear. “Hey, Gold,” she said in a hushed tone.

“Yes?”

“I like your dog.”

He smiled at her, tenderly. “He likes you, too, Belle.”


	5. Chapter 5

Gold tugged sharply on his suit jacket in front of the dusty mirror in his shop, trying to get it to sit straighter. Smoother. Smaller. He hadn’t really noticed before, but he’d gained a bit of weight recently. Well, he’d _noticed_ , of course, when he went up a couple notches in his belt and the way his shirts pulled across his chest just a bit more than they used to, but he hadn’t really _cared_ until now. Nature taking its course and all that. He looked his age, he thought with dissatisfaction, barely able to meet his own eyes. His gazed flitted everywhere. His hair, his nose, that showy gold tooth, his mouth, now turned down in a frown. He never gave his looks much thought other than wanting to present a neat appearance, but now that Belle had come into his life — and had it only been three days? — he had become grossly self-conscious about, well, about how inadequate he was.

She had complimented him, once, in a way, through her Instagram account. He distinctly remembered _#silverfox_ as well as _#ovaryexplosion_ , which… well, if it was anyone else he’d have scoffed. But, even though he was a subscriber to her account, he was unable to find that particular picture again. He wasn’t sure if he’d actually seen it or if it had been a nice daydream. Wish fulfillment that a beautiful, much younger woman would find him attractive in any way.

He was being ridiculous, he knew. There was nothing really there to even get worked up about like a teenager with his first crush. Not when he was forty-eight with a teenager of his own. He straightened the knot in his tie, fussing over it until he felt like he was being strangled, then loosened it a bit so he could at least breath.

He glanced at the clock, noting the time, then back at his face, not really seeing it, just bits of shapes like an abstract painting. If he let his eyes unfocus, the person in the mirror blurred. The lines on his face softened and disappeared and the gray blended into the mousy brown enough that he could think that he might be attractive enough to... certain persons expected any minute. Well, that was wishful thinking. Stupid.

He should have sold that mirror years ago.

The bell to his shop rang as the door opened and he looked up, past his reflection, to see Belle slowly walk in.

“Mr. Gold?” she called out, looking around before finding him in the back standing in front of the mirror like Snow White’s evil stepmother asking who was the fairest of them all. If his mirror could speak it would no doubt tell him the obvious: Belle was more beautiful than anyone in all the world, and, also, Gold should seriously consider getting psychiatric help.

“Belle,” he said, turning quickly lest she suspect how long he’d been standing there primping for her visit. “Hey!”

She beamed back at him, nearly stunning him with the brightness of it and how happy she seemed to see him. He could feel his chest swelling, then deflate once he felt how tight his clothes fit. Tomorrow he would start exercising.

“Hey, yourself!” she said, letting the door close behind her with a firm click and another ring of the bell. He should really think about muffling it some day.

“You look nice today. Hot date?” she asked with a teasing tilt to her head.

“No, just you.” He winced, mentally kicking himself. “I mean, there’s no date. I don’t have plans. Later on.” He swallowed, biting his lips to keep from blurting anything out that would make him want to walk out the door and off the pier. He wanted to tell her that she looked lovely, but now that she’d already complimented him first, it just seemed awkward and contrived. He stared at her, happily until he remembered why she’d come.

“So do you want to do it the backroom or go to the library?” Oh, fuck.

“What?” she asked, breathlessly, a soft, rosy blush spreading across her cheeks.

“The grant? Would you feel more comfortable going over it here or at the library? I have more supplies in the back room, but there’s more room at the library,” he explained, willing himself not to blush overmuch.

He must have imagined the glimpse of disappointment that flitted over her face.

“Oh, um… Right. Of course.” She pushed a lock of hair out of her face, shaking her head at herself and looking around for… something. “Here’s fine. You can show me your wheel,” she said with a hopeful look.

As if he could deny her anything while she looked up at him with those cornflower blue eyes, pleading with him as if he could make her happy with that one tiny, little thing. “Of course.” He nodded, stupidly. “Absolutely. Come with me.” He turned to lead her into the back room, drawing back the heavy curtain like a magician revealing his secrets.

She stepped in happily, toting a large backpack on one shoulder, no doubt filled with the immense paperwork needed to cut through the bureaucratic red tape. She glanced up at him with a smile then set her bag down on the workbench.

“This place is amazing!” she said, striding over to the spinning wheel, giving it a practice spin. “I still can’t believe you can do this. It’s a lost art.”

“Not so much lost, but definitely specialized.”

“Maybe, when we have some time you can teach me?”

“I’d be happy to show you the basics, but I’m not an expert.”

“It’s more than what I know already,” she pointed out.

“That’s true, I suppose.” he gripped the handle of his cane tighter as the image of Belle sitting between his knees before the wheel, the rocking of her hips as she worked the pedals, moving against him as he reached around her to show her exactly how to hold the roving. He felt himself growing hard at the thought and he nearly ran out of the room in panic. A sudden erection hadn’t happened to him in decades and he nearly felt faint from the loss of the blood in his brain. He had to distract himself before it got any worse and she noticed. “You can, um, have a seat, Belle. Anywhere is fine.” He looked around, his eyes falling onto the large binder currently sitting on his desk. Oh, that’s right. Belle was here for business. He walked over to his chair and sat down, opening the binder up to a marked page. He put on his reading glasses and got to it. “So, here’s what I found in the city charter…”

Two hours later, they had exhausted every possible contingency they could think of. His eyes watered with the strain of staring at documents for endless minutes at a time and he rubbed the bridge of his nose, glasses dangling from one hand, staving off the headache that threatened.

“What do you do with Scooter when you stay here?” Belle asked him, curiously.

He finally had an excuse to look at her. “Hmm? Oh, um, Mrs. Potts takes care of him when I’m not home.”

“Mrs. Potts?” she asked, delighted. “Who is she?”

Gold smiled back. “She’s my housekeeper.”

She looked at him and teased, “You have a keeper?”

He laughed. “I do. She keeps me from starving and makes sure I don’t wander off in my old age. And she loves dogs.”

“You’re not old,” Belle said, in a low voice.

He didn’t know what to say to that. He was old, well, older, which counted in his book.

“So, um, what do you do on the weekends?” she asked, looking off to the side.

He followed her gaze, wondering what caught her attention, but the only thing of interest was his day bed, hastily made up with an antique counterpane he’d restored and his goose down pillows. Oh. “W-weekends are Bae’s,” he stuttered. “I close up shop and take him to his games on Saturdays when he has them and, when he doesn’t, we just… do whatever he wants. We fish a lot.”

She stared at him, but her gaze went straight to his suit and he guessed she was trying to imagine him in fishing waders.

“We just go to the pier,” he clarified with a chuckle. He shuffled the papers together, tapping them on the desk, briskly. “Apple picking in the fall.” He looked back up at her with a crooked smile. “Fairy Tale Land on Sundays.

She bit her lip, smiling at him. “Sounds ideal,” she said, leaning over the desk to whisper at him, conspiratorially.

She was so close now that he could see each individual eyelash. There were so many — too many, too close, too much, too soon. He leaned back in his chair, needing space to breath without being assailed by her flowery perfume and tempting lips. “Ideal would be if he was with me full-time,” he told her, bitterly.

“I—”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“You didn’t. You obviously love your son.”

“I do.”

She smiled at him, hesitantly. “It just… it seems like you haven’t left much room for, well, for anyone else to share your life with you.”

He snorted, looking at his hands, now clenched on top of the desk. He slowly opened them, letting them fall palm down on the worn wood. “There is no one else. It’s pathetic, I know,” he said with a bitter, crooked smile. “But I’m happy this way.”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” he told her, lying through his gold-capped teeth.

“I don’t really believe you,” she said, leaning back now, giving him some much needed space. “I think you’ve been hurt and you keep yourself to yourself to keep from being hurt again.”

How did the conversation get turned onto his non-existent love life? When, precisely, did this become a topic of interest? “And you’ve figured that out in three days?” he asked, irritably. “Just like that?”

She stared at him, her eyes pleading with him to understand something, but he didn’t have the first clue about what she wanted him to know.

“No,” she said with a heavy sigh when he didn’t give her the answer she was looking for. “Look, I’m sorry, this is none of my business,” she said, thickly, looking around for her backpack. “I should probably get going anyway. Have a long day of work tomorrow. Again.”

He stood up slowly feeling like he’d just dropped something fragile and precious onto the floor, but didn’t know exactly know what it was or how to find and repair it.

“Okay,” he said, softly.

They walked out to the showroom floor, now dark with the fallen night. He flipped on the lights, but they didn’t do much to dispel the gloomy atmosphere. Funny, he’d never really noticed how depressing his shop looked at night.

“One thing before I go,” Belle said, turning around quickly, then hesitated a moment before continuing. “My, uh, supervisor mentioned—” She shook her head. “Well, a few things, but I just wanted to know how much I owe you for this.”

He stared at her in confusion wondering where she was going with this. Why would she owe him anything. “For what?”

“For your services? She said you don’t do anything for free.”

So that’s what feeling like your heart was ripped out of your chest felt like. It was an interesting feeling. Not even his wife leaving had left him this gutted because that was a long time coming — expected and looked forward to by the end of it all. But this? Out of the blue and from Belle? He hated it. “You...” he paused, blinking rapidly. Christ, first the unwelcome return to adolescence and now he was about to cry. “You don’t owe me anything. I’m happy to do it, Belle.”

“You’re sure?” she asked, looking at him earnestly.

He tried to smile, but knew he failed miserably. “I’m sure. Just think of me as your Fairy Godmother. Father,” he amended with a wince.

She cocked her head and stared at him with a funny look on her face.

“What?”

“Nothing, I was just trying to imagine you in a big, poofy dress is all.”

“I thought that was Glinda,” he said, glad for the distraction.

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

“No matter.”

“Shall I see you online later?” she asked, hopefully.

He didn’t think he was up for Skype and at the moment, the idea of chatting about Fairy Tale Land made him want to scream. “Um… no. I think I’ll call it an early night tonight.” He was tired and hurt and something went wrong only he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. He suspected he’d hurt Belle, too, but he didn’t know how when she was the one who accused him of being after money. “Maybe—” No, tomorrow was Friday and that was Bae time. “Maybe Monday.”

She nodded her head, looking down at her feet. She was wearing a pair of dangerously high shoes, he’d noticed. And she was still shorter than he was.

“Yeah, I’ll see you Monday, then,” she said, giving him a sad smile before opening the door — that stupid bell again — and leaving into the night.

He watched her cross the street to the library, where her car was parked and saw that she’d left safely. He should have walked her to her car at least, he thought in recrimination.

She was long gone before he snapped out of his stupor, locking the door firmly and flipping the sign to “closed.”

Fairy Tale Land didn’t fill that empty part of his life any more, he realized suddenly.     Maybe it was time for him to stop living in a fantasy land. Maybe it was time to leave it.

   

   

   

  



	6. Chapter 6

Gold sat in front of his computer with his mouse hovering over Bookwyrm’s name, the green dot showing her online status tempting him more than he wanted to admit. Even though his earlier musing about quitting fandom had flown out the window the minute he walked into his empty house, it took every bit of self control not to click on it. Scooter had greeted him happily, but, for all his enthusiastic tail wagging, he was a poor conversationalist. Belle was a part of his life now and he was missing her even though he’d just seen her a few hours ago. Their weeknight chats had become habit and he looked forward to talking to her even if it was nothing more than character study and the merits of OCs. She was interesting and fun and she made him laugh and feel good and except for Bae and Mrs. Potts, she was the closest thing to a friend he had. Maybe something more, if he could get out of his own way.

He didn’t even have to think, clicking on her name and smiling when her user icon popped up on his screen.

**TheDarkOne_45** : Hey.  
**Bookwyrm** : Hey I thought you weren’t going to be online tonight?  
**TheDarkOne_45** : I wasn’t, but I finished up some things early.  
**Bookwyrm** : What kind of things?  
**TheDarkOne_45** : Just some paperwork. Nothing exciting, but it had been piling up.  
**Bookwyrm** : Oh  
**Bookwyrm** : Look, Mr. Gold. I’m sorry about what I said earlier. About the money.  
**TheDarkOne_45** : Think nothing of it, Belle.  
**Bookwyrm** : No, It’s been bugging me all evening. I think I might have hurt your feelings and I’m sorry for it.  
**Bookwyrm** : My manager at the library indicated that you may have been setting me up for something and I just had to know.  
**Bookwyrm** : Mr. Gold?  
**TheDarkone_45** : Matthew.  
**Bookwyrm** : ??  
**TheDarkOne_45** : That’s my name.  
**Bookwyrm** : Your first name is Matthew? Do you go by Matt?  
**TheDarkOne_45** : I usually go by Mr. Gold or Papa. If you don’t want to use Matthew then I’d prefer you didn’t call me Papa. :)

He cringed as he sent that. The last thing he wanted to do was remind her of their age difference, but if she actually called him Papa he may just die of excruciating embarrassment.

**Bookwyrm** : I like Matthew. It’s funny, it didn’t even occur to me to ask what your first name was. You’ve been TheDarkOne_45 to me for so long that anything else feels weird.  
**TheDarkOne_45** : Mr. Gold is fine.  
**Bookwyrm** : No,I like Mathew.  
**Bookwyrm** : Thank you for telling me. I’ll keep it a secret. ;)  
**TheDarkOne_45** : It’s no secret.  
**TheDarkOne_45** : Belle, I don’t know who your manager is, but she wasn’t wrong to warn you about me. I told you when we met that I wasn’t used to being liked. There’s a reason for that.  
**Bookwyrm** : And what is that?

Gold stared at the blinking cursor, wondering what to tell her. The truth, obviously, but how much should he admit to?

**TheDarkOne_45** : I’m not the kindest person.  
**Bookwyrm** : That’s not true.  
**The DarkOne_45** : What I mean is, I lend people money for a living.  
**Bookwyrm** : Well, you own a pawnshop. That’s part of your job.  
**TheDarkOne_45** : I mean beyond the pawnshop.  
**Bookwyrm** : You mean like a  
**Bookwyrm** : a loan shark?  
  
Gold winced but nodded his head until he remembered that they weren’t Skyping.

**TheDarkOne_45** : That’s one way of putting it.  
**Bookwyrm** : LOL  
**TheDarkOne_45** : That’s funny?  
**Bookwyrm** : Yes! Beryl was all *so* hush hush and oooooh very scary about you and then you tell me the truth and it’s really not that big of a deal.  
**TheDarkOne_45** : Oh, Beryl. Yes, I know who you are talking about. *She’s* your manager?  
**Bookwyrm** : She made you out to be some bloodsucking monster who preys on unsuspecting people, squeezing every last penny from their wallets. It was ridiculous.  
**TheDarkOne_45** : I’m glad you think so.  
**Bookwyrm** : She’d put me in such a bad mood, too, last night. I feel so stupid. I should have just asked, but then you were making me feel better.  
**Bookwyrm** : I just didn’t want to talk about it.  
**Bookwyrm** : Matthew?  
**TheDarkOne_45** : I’m here. I’m, quite frankly, relieved. Most people don’t have a positive reaction after they know what it is that I do.

Most people have been on the wrong end of his deals to have a positive reaction, but that was more truth than he was willing to say right now. He was just glad to have their misunderstanding settled.

**Bookwyrm** : How’s Scooter doing?  
**TheDarkOne_45** : He’s fine. He’s sitting next to my chair, drooling on my slippers.  
**Bookwyrm** : XD You wear slippers?  
**TheDarkOne_45** : Yes? Is that odd?  
**Bookwyrm** : No, it’s normal. I’m just curious. What else are you wearing?

Gold looked down at his slacks and shirt, wondering if she was asking for any reason other than idle curiosity. Should he say he was wearing something else entirely? Was this a sext? Were they sexting? No, that was over the phone, wasn’t it? Cyber sex then. Is that what was happening? Should he say he was wearing nothing? But who wore nothing except slippers? Nudists prone to cold feet? No, he… he couldn’t do that. He started typing again, deleting the typos that cropped up every third letter.

**TheDarkOne_45:** Just regular clothes.  
**TheDarkOne_45** : Out of curiousity, why did you ask?  
**Bookwyrm** : No reason. I’m just trying to get a clear picture of your home life.  
**Bookwyrm** : I didn’t mean anything by it, but I can see now that it may have come across as… well, as sleezy.  
**Bookwyrm** : I’m sorry.  
**TheDarkOne_45** : No, it’s okay. I was just actually wondering if I should tell you I was wearing nothing and watch you explode from here.  
**Bookwyrm** : Nah, I wouldn’t explode.  
**Bookwyrm** : But now I know what to get you for Christmas.  
**TheDarkOne_45** : That’s not for months.  
**Bookwyrm** : Then I have plenty of time to save up for something really luxurious. Are you allergic to wool?  
**TheDarkOne_45** : Not to sheep’s wool, but I am allergic to alpaca.  
**Bookwyrm** : Noted. :)  
**Bookwyrm** : Matthew?  
**TheDarkOne_45** : Yes?  
**Bookwyrm** : I am sorry about earlier. I feel like I hurt you this afternoon and I didn’t mean to.  
**TheDarkOne_45** : You didn’t.  
**Bookwyrm** : Well, I’m sorry anyway. I should have trusted you instead of accusing you of being underhanded.  
**TheDarkOne_45** : It’s okay, Belle. Truly. I’m known for being ruthless and I’ve dealt with your manager before. She was just looking out for you.

Beryl was a bitch with poor reading comprehension skills, something he found deplorable in a librarian, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. He took a deep breath, waiting for Belle to respond. Maybe he should have kept things light, ask her about what she was reading. Or wearing. Was she still in that pretty dress she wore earlier or was she already in those tiny sleep shorts he’d gotten an eyeful the night before? He glanced at the Skype button, wondering if he should suggest using it, but decided not to. _#silverfox_ bounced around in the back of his mind and he shook his head to dislodge the thought. Belle would have asked by now if she wanted to see his face. She probably would have demanded that he hold his slippers up so she could get a good look at them, plain and covered in dog fur as they were.  
Scooter rolled over, huffing in his sleep and Gold looked down at the animal, fondly.

**Bookwyrm** : you still there?  
**TheDarkOne_45** : Yes, of course. I was just thinking.  
**Bookwyrm** : what about?  
**TheDarkOne_45** : I was wondering if you were going to be up sometime next week would you like to have dinner?

_#silverfox_ damn it, he told himself. _Be_ a _#silverfox_.

**Bookwyrm** : I would love to! I was planning on coming up Saturday, but that’s your Bae time.

Gold licked his lips, nervously. While he had no objection to Bae meeting Belle it seemed awfully early for that to happen. He started typing, but Belle beat him to it.

**Bookwyrm** : how about Tues when I come up on my day off?  
**TheDarkOne_45** : Again?  
**Bookwyrm** : I have a ton of stuff to do.  
**TheDarkOne_45** : Yes, but you’ll need to take *some* time off.  
**Bookwyrm** : That’s what Beryl told me yesterday.  
**TheDarkOne_45** : Well, you know your limits. I’ll see you on Tuesday then?  
**Bookwyrm** : if not before. I’ll still be there Sat if you want to stop by.  
**TheDarkOne_45** : Bae has a game over in Newcastle on Saturday, but I’ll talk to you Monday as usual?  
**Bookwyrm** : That’s right!  
**TheDarkOne_45** : So, it’s a date? Tuesday?

_#silverfox_! _#silverfox_!

**Bookwyrm** : Yes, it’s a date! I’m looking forward to it!  
**TheDarkOne_45** : Me, too. :)  
**Bookwyrm:** Goodnight, Matthew.  
**TheDarkOne_45** : Goodnight, Belle.

He silently, and perhaps foolishly, blew a kiss at the screen, waiting until her light turned gray before shutting his computer down. He stood up and, patting his leg, called to Cuddles McFlufferson AKA Scooter to follow him outside for one last potty break before bed. He leaned against the door frame, waiting for Scooter to finish his business, amazed at himself.

He had a date!


	7. Chapter 7

Belle pulled up to the grand house, mouth hanging open when it loomed into view at the end of the block, double checking the map on her phone to be sure she had the right address. It was just so big. And pink.

There was a medium-sized, flopped-eared, reddish fluffy dog that performed an uncanny impression of a barking mop just behind the picket gate that led up to the front walkway in between a double row of nodding flowers and an emerald-green lawn that stretched up and around the house.

She pulled up beside the mailbox on which the name “Gold” was written in orange paint that glittered in the afternoon light. Judging by the crooked writing, Belle would guess that Bae was the resident artist. She wasn’t sure what she expected when she thought of Matthew’s home, but the pink Victorian wasn’t it and she felt charmed by the house as she got out of her car and approached the white picket fence. It all looked very homey and Belle didn’t know why she should be surprised about the house at all — it was just another layer to Matthew that intrigued her.

The shaggy dog woofed at her, wagging his tail so fast his hind legs couldn’t properly stay on the ground and she reached a few fingers over the gate to let him sniff, careful not to leave too much for him to nip off in case Matthew misjudged his friendliness, but the dog merely sniffed with a wet, black nose and licked at her hand, while she texted to Matthew that she was outside, not wanting to risk letting Scooter out accidentally.

Immediately, the front door opened and Matthew came out with an apologetic look on his face. He had his phone in one hand and his cane in the other and Belle’s heart skipped a beat when she saw the gray at his temples when his hair flew back as he hurried down the stairs.

“I’m so sorry, Belle. Scooter is friendly I promise you.” He pulled back on Scooter’s collar, growling a quick, “down, boy,” underneath his breath before jiggling the gate open then wrenching it closed when she walked through. “I’m sorry, I forgot that he doesn’t really know you. We’ve been talking for so long online that it slipped my mind.”

“It’s okay,” Belle said, leaning over to give Scooter a proper hello.

“It’s just…” Matthew said, glancing at his phone then down at her, his face lit up from within. “I’ve had a bit of news.”

Belle stood up, taking in the brightness of his eyes and the way they shone with excitement. “I take it it’s good news?” she asked, politely.

“The best! I just… Wait, no I’m doing this all wrong. Come inside and let me get you a drink. I’m sorry, I'm all turned around and scattered. Ridiculous.”

He talked the whole way up the stairs, but, like the time when he spun for her over Skype, the sound of his voice washed over and through her and only part of her brain registered what he was saying. It was difficult to concentrate when he was a step and a half in front of her so her eyes were naturally drawn to his shapely backside. She felt like a terrible human being. Matthew was someone she liked and respected, to be reduced to merely a fine piece of ass was deplorable. If the roles were reversed, she’d be livid, but as of that exact moment, she couldn’t bring herself to stop.

Belle followed him up, deliberately not looking at his rump and the way the muscles moved underneath his charcoal gray trousers. And, if she’d noticed that he’d taken off his suit coat and was sporting the golden sleeve garters on his arms and the way the right one flexed when he used his cane and if the sight of it made her stomach flip, well, she could be excused for not being able to reply immediately.

She wondered if she accidentally tripped up the steps and sort of fell on him, would he mind? Maybe. But would it be worth it? Probably.

“Mrs. Potts prepared dinner,” he said as he held the door open for her. “I’m just waiting on the… on the…” His voice trailed off when he’d noticed that she wasn’t paying the least amount of attention. “Belle?”

She snapped out of her reverie, dragging her eyes from those stupid garters and looking at him with a guilty smile. Big mistake. His eyes, so bright and alive before were now dark and soft with concern, the creases beside them deepened and that thing he was doing with his eyebrows should be outlawed before that quiet heat bubbling up inside her exploded into a zillion stars. “Hm?”

“Are you okay? If you’re too tired then we can call it a night. Well, you should eat first, but I can make a plate for you to take with you if you'd rather—”

He looked lost and ready to give up already and Belle didn't know how to fix her mistake. She'd let herself become distracted and now he thought she was over it before they'd begun. Her heart ached for him. She put a hand on his arm, stilling his mouth and stood up on her tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the cheek, her heart thumping rapidly as her lips touched him. His skin was warm and a little rough from where his beard had grown in over the day and it felt just the right amount of scratchy against her lips. Her nose just brushed against his hair— as soft as it looked and smelled like spices and tea. She licked her bottom lip, biting it to keep the tingling at bay. “I’m fine. My day is only getting better,” she said, stepping back with a small smile, knowing she was blushing uncontrollably now. She'd always been impulsive, but she rarely regretted it.

He gawked at her, his mouth parted in a soft gasp as an adorable blush dusted his cheeks and along the bridge of his nose making Belle wish she'd kissed him properly before Scooter's insistence at being let in brought him back around. "Uh. Yes, uh, come in."

The house was beautiful with rich, dark colors and tiny, breakable things arranged in little vignettes on nearly every flat surface she could see. There was an abundance of flowers and Belle wondered if that was due to the famed Mrs. Potts or if Matthew liked them enough to bring them home every day. She set down her purse on a spindly table and, much to Matthew's amusement, kicked off her shoes by the door. Scooter snuffled them for a moment before determining that they weren't dangerous and trotted over to Matthew for an ear scratch. There was a delicious aroma of something cooking that, mixed together with the fresh flowers and Gold’s spicy cologne, which lingered in her nostrils and the back of her throat, all combined in a heady fragrance that screamed home. It felt like home. Belle had an urge to ask him if she could stay forever.

"Your house is beautiful," she said, looking around. There was an open door off the foyer and Belle recognized the back wall. "This is your office then?" she asked.

He looked surprised before remembering that she'd already seen it over Skype. "Yeah," he said, pushing the door open wider so she could get a better look.

There were framed pictures on the wall by the door and a lawyer's bookcase filled to the brim with leather-bound tomes but what caught Belle's eye wasn't the picture of Matthew and who she assumed to be his son standing proudly next to Mickey Mouse, but something completely out of place for the serious man beside her.

"You framed your HEA's?" she asked with a giggle, looking at him out of the side of her eye. “Really?”

He glanced at her quickly before looking away sheepishly. "Bae did it. I know it’s a fandom thing, but he was proud of me and so he printed them out and—" he spread his hands out towards the framed awards in a there-you-go motion. "He turns thirteen this year so he'll get his own Tumblr account and actively campaign for me during next year's HEAs. At least, that's what he told me. I'm not even sure I'll be writing when they come around again, but he does insist,” he said with a shy smile.

Belle’s smile dropped. "You're thinking of quitting?" she said, feeling a pout take root. She felt childish, but TheDarkOne_45 was her best friend online. She would miss him even if she got to see him in person every once in awhile when she came to work at the library.

"No, of course not,” he said, taken aback by her dejected attitude. “Well, I’ve considered it a few times. My story is wrapping up and I mean, I think I'm just too old for it. I feel pretty silly sometimes, you know?” He cleared his throat, looking down at his cane.

“I don’t think anyone can be too old to spend time doing something they enjoy. If you like to do something then why stop? And you’re good at it. At writing, I mean,” she added, quickly.

He looked up at her through the curtain of his long hair, eyes mostly hidden, but she caught a tantalizing hint of a smile before he straightened up, biting his lip to keep from grinning outright.

“What are you thinking?” she asked, her eyes squinting at him suspiciously.

He tossed his hair back with a shake of his head, an enigmatic smile on his lips before he turned and led her back down the hall. “I’m thinking that I promised you dinner.”

“I’m thinking you’re lying.”

“No, I’m certain I promised dinner, ” he said teasingly as he turned to the right into another room.

“Okay, I think you’re evading my question,” she countered, following as close to his heels as she could without being right on top of him lest she get distracted by his ass again.

He’d led her into the kitchen where there was a small, round table set for two with a small vase overflowing with lilacs in the middle. The aroma that she’d noticed when she walked into the house was nearly mouth-watering in the kitchen and her stomach began to rumble in response.

“Have a seat,” Gold said as he pulled an apron off a hook on the wall by the doorway and put it on, his fingers sure and quick, wrapping the strings around his back and tying them in the front in a neat bow. Belle, sat with her chin in her hand, watching as he slipped on an old, maroon oven mitt and took a dish out the oven, putting it on the stove top to cool. Whatever it was smelled divine.

“Your housekeeper made that?” she asked as he poured her a glass of white wine.

He glanced at her with a glint in his eye. “Worried I’ll poison you?” he asked, with a teasing lilt to his voice.

She snorted into her glass of wine, a snurggling sound that made her face grow red as she choked. “No,” she wheezed, shaking her head. She didn’t know what was worse: the burning of embarrassment or the burning of the wine in her nose. She sniffed loudly — definitely embarrassment. “Just curious. Domesticated DarkOne_45 is just something I didn’t think I’d ever get to witness.”

Matthew’s concerned face eased into a pleasant smile as he set down a plate in front of her, then went back for his own. Belle admired his walk for a second before she turned her attention to her dinner, waiting until Matthew had sat down before she picked up her fork.

“You, uh, said you had good news? Earlier on the porch,” she clarified when he looked at her quizzically.

His eyes brightened even more and he set his cutlery down in his excitement. “Yes! Bae’s going to live with me from now on.”

She could feel her smile bursting up all the way from her toes and as she gave a breathy little laugh. “Wait, really? That's—that’s amazing! How did that come about?” she asked, eagerly.

He spread out his hands palms up, the words seeming to well up but unable to express them properly. “He just… he wanted to,” he said, awed, as if the idea that anyone wanting to be with him was a foreign concept. “And he’s old enough now to decide for himself,” he added.

He shook his head at himself, but the love and devotion and astonishment on his face was there, shining out and Belle had never seen anyone look more handsome than he did at that moment when he looked up at her from beneath his hair with his warm, brown eyes sparkling at her.

“He said he wanted to choose me from the start, but his mom insisted—” he swallowed, thickly, looking down at his plate. “Anyway, we have to go before the judge to make it official, but I’ll have him before school starts up again.”

She reached over to clasp his hand, squeezing it tightly. “I can’t tell you how happy I am for you.” It was then that Belle realized how selfish she was. She felt her smile slip, but gamely kept it up in the hopes that he wouldn’t notice. She drew her hand back, settling it in her lap where it clenched at her other one desperately.

It figured that he would. 

Matthew’s mouth drew down in a little frown and the crease was back between his eyes again. “What's the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said, scratching at her eyebrow with a pinkie before she realized what she was doing and put her hand back on her lap. “I'm just gonna miss our talks is all," she confessed, sheepishly.

He looked at her in confusion. "But I'll see you when you're in town now and online. You'll be sick of me before the week is done."

Belle huffed a tiny laugh. "I don’t think I could get sick of you, Matthew,” she told him, feeling a flush well up on her cheeks again, but he deserved to know how she felt about him. That’s what this dinner was all about wasn’t it? “I know it seems silly, but, I look forward to our evening chats."

He looked at her in confusion. "Why would we stop?" he asked, pain flickering behind his eyes.

“Well, you've always said that weekends are Bae time and since he'll be living with you…” She covered her face with her hands with a groan. “This sounds so stupid,” she muttered through her fingers before dropping her hands into her lap, sheepishly. “I know it sounds selfish, but I’m going to miss my friend,” she told him earnestly, leaning towards him.

He blinked at her in wonderment. “But, I don’t understand, I'll have him all the time. And… I think it would be nice to have Belle time, too. If that’s okay, I mean,” he said, drawing in a shaky breath, blinking rapidly. “I mean, I’d like it if we saw each other on a… more regular basis.”

Her smile was back, the one from her toes that not even biting her lip could prevent. “I would like that, Matthew. A lot, actually. And…” she stared down at her uneaten dinner before looking up at him again, watching the way he hung on her every word. “Okay,” she said, sitting up in her chair with her chin held high. She just had to be brave and trust him. “I have to confess I’ve had a bit of an online crush on you for months now.”

“You, too?” he blurted before his eyes went wide and he shut his mouth with a clack. A flush blossomed up from the opened vee of his shirt and spread up to his cheeks and he looked at her, mortified.

She laughed silently.”I don’t know why you’re embarrassed, Matthew, I just confessed the same thing.”

“I’m not embarrassed, I’m…” He paused, briefly, trying to compose his thoughts,then continued, “Do you know that feeling you get when you’re walking downstairs and you think there’s a step, but there isn’t and you stumble a bit and your adrenaline's through the roof and all you can do is hang on to the handrail until the panic is over?”

Belle’s thoughts flit to his leg, wondering if that’s how he injured it, but she was more distracted by the way he was staring at her. As if she held the universe in her eyes. “Yeah, I’ve done that a time or two,” she admitted with a rueful smile.

“That’s how I feel when you’re online. And-and now that I’ve met you and know you…” he trailed off, swallowing nervously.

“Yes?” she breathed.

“You make me feel like I could… fly.”

“I do all that?” she whispered, blinking back the tears that pricked behind her eyes and she blinked rapidly to keep them from falling lest Matthew got the wrong impression. She was breathing heavily now, had been for a while now, ever since her confession that seemed so mild in comparison now.

“Among other things,” he said with a self-conscious grin.

Her mouth opened in shock at first, but she matched his grin with one of her own, marvelling at how good it felt to sit here with him, sharing their feelings. She cleared her throat, then, “Well, I’m up for a lot of things with you,” she teased with a tilt of her head. “I’ve been hoping we could maybe move things up a level since we’ve met.”

“A level?”

“Or two. Or more if, uh, if things work out.”

He blinked at her, then looked down at his plate before looking up at her, his face open and honest. “Would you like to meet Bae?” he asked, restlessly.

“Yes!” she said. “When?”

“Now? I can Facetime him and introduce you.”

She set her napkin next to her plate in answer and he stood up, leading her to his living room where there was a large squashy couch in front of a brick fireplace. He gestured for her to sit then plopped down next to her, digging his phone out of his pocket with an apologetic look. Bae’s was the first number in his contacts and he answered at the second ring with a bright smile underneath a mop of curly dark hair.

“Hey, Dad! How’d your date go?”

“Bae, hey!” His eyes flicked to her then back to the phone in his hand. “My um, my date went very well. Actually it’s still going on.”

“You called me in the middle of your date?” he asked incredulously. “Are you crazy?”

Belle took pity on Matthew then and leaned over so she was in the frame with him. “Hi, Bae! I’m Belle.”

Bae’s eyes widened and he looked at his dad in panic. “Dad, you are so lame. Why are you calling me when she’s right there?”

Belle laughed,her shoulders jostling Matthew’s arm until the phone shook, probably making the picture wobbly on the other end.

“I just wanted to introduce you to her, Bae. I’m hanging up in a minute,” Matthew told him, grinning widely.

“Hang up now, Dad! Call me when she’s left,” he glanced at her again before adding with a cheeky I’m-three-towns-away-and-you-can’t-touch-me grin. “If she leaves tonight.”

“Bae!” he said, scandalized.

“Nice to meet you, Belle. See you soon.”

“I’m looking forward to it, Bae,” she replied before he hung up on his father with a hissed “kiss her, stupid,” parting shot.

“I like him,” she told him.

“Good,” he said, tossing the phone on the coffee table, quietly laughing at the fiasco he’d created. “He likes you, too. Of course I’ll have to ground him later for that, but he’s a good kid.”

She turned to him, tucking up a knee to look at him better. “You’re not really going to ground him are you?”

He shook his head. “Course not.”

“Because he gives great advice. He has a promising career as a life coach.”

“A what?” he asked, baffled.

She leaned forward, and in all seriousness told him. “Kiss me.”

“Oh,” he breathed, as if she’d just kicked him in the kidneys. Then, slowly, cupped her cheek in his palm and leaned down to brush her lips softly with his.

“That’s a great start,” she murmured against his lips and he answered her with another kiss, scooting her closer until she was up against him and caressing her mouth until her lips parted, sharing everything she’d been feeling since she’d come across his writing on the internet. He groaned softly into her mouth and she let her hands drift up to his hair for the first time, running them through the silky strands before she grabbed a fistful in the back and held him tight until they broke apart, panting for breath.

“You should have told me you were an expert at this,” she said, once she got her breathing under control. She stroked his hair and the side of his face, watching the way his eyes regained their focus. “Are you okay?” she asked with concern.

He touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers, watching her with a startled happiness she’d never seen before. “I think… I might have found my happy ending,” he said, coming down for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and to those of you who've stuck with this story for so long.


	8. Missing Scenes and Outtakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what is written on the tin.

**Does Belle ever get into smut?**

**Before they met:**

Gold slowly took off his glasses and set them aside next to his laptop. He stared at the screen for a moment, blinking stupidly at it before pushing his chair back and rushing to the bathroom to turn the shower on as cold as it could get, his sudden erection impeding his progress more than his bad ankle.

Bookwym, it seems, had decided to up the rating.

**After:**

“Have you decided on how you’re going end your story,” Gold asked after their library work was done for the evening. He set aside the paperwork and smiled at her through the camera.

Belle took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Well, I dunno. I’ve got a lot of asks for smut, which I guess is fine, but I don’t really see ending it like that. I mean, I have no problem with it, but smut for smut’s sake will just make it seem… pandering somehow? I have to imagine it for one and now it just seems awkward.”

“Why is that?”

“Well, remember what you said about having to see something before writing it? Smut is a bit like that for me, I have a good imagination, but it’s better if it’s something I’ve already done. You know, the choreography and all.”

He shook his head a bit. “Wait, wait. You’ve had sex in a dirigible before?”

She looked at him, confused. “No. No, but the position against the w—” She stopped herself, blushing. “I don’t think it’ll be smutty,” she finished quietly, looking away, unable to look him in the face.

He cleared his throat, knowing his face was practically glowing with embarrassment and, well, call it like he saw it, he was now downright horny. And unreasonably jealous.  

* * *

 

**Set after chapter 4**

Gold chuckled to himself as he traded curse words with Belle, getting her to smile after a crappy day and he felt something warm unfurl somewhere inside his chest, swelling almost to the point of pain and making him nearly breathless. “Better?” he asked her, biting on his lips to keep from grinning like an idiot.

She beamed at him, gratefully. “Mmm, yes. Hang on,” she told him, and the picture on his monitor swam as she set her laptop to the side, giving him another, off-kilter view of her room.

The air whooshed out of his lungs and his mouth gaped open as Belle kicked the covers off her legs, stretching them out in front of him, well, in front of her laptop, which now afforded him the most glorious view of her soft thighs and a forbidden peek of blue lace panties, and, then, as she rolled over, the bottom swell of her… He sucked in a shuddering breath. Her ass was perfect. Well, what he could see of it anyway, and he could see an awful lot as she crawled to the edge of her bed, dumping her paperwork on the end table, then scooting back under the covers as if she hadn’t just given him a month’s worth of fantasies and a damn near stroke, but a stroke was impossible because all the blood had left his head and rushed southward to his now straining cock.

He quickly looked away, but he couldn’t unsee it. He squeezed his eyes shut, however the rustling of the covers drew his attention once more and, hating himself, he had to look.

He felt his himself stir uncomfortably in his pants as she pulled the covers up to her chin and snuggling down onto her pillow, smiling at him sleepily. Yeah, this was torture.

Belle didn’t realize she’d inadvertently flashed him. If it was done on purpose, he’d have no qualms about looking, but that wasn’t the case here. He kept his eyes averted. There. Scooter was a good distraction.

His weekday conversations with Belle were the only human contact he really had in between his time with Bae (customers and desperate souls certainly didn’t count) and he was sure that his… partiality towards her had been blossoming into something more long before they met. It was one of the reasons why he’d kept his distance even after he felt he could trust her. Gold felt that he should stop himself before he got in too deep, but he didn’t see how that was possible without derailing the library project and alienating his friend. He liked her, in every meaning of the word and enjoyed her company, now expanded into their real lives outside of fandom. It was crazy how that worked out and yesterday, after she left, he had sat with his head in his hands wondering where this new direction was taking him.

He would be an idiot if he ruined it and Gold was many things, but an idiot wasn’t one of them. Maybe this thing between them would become something more, but until he could be sure of Belle’s feelings, he would have to be very careful of his own.

 

* * *

**Set at no particular time**

Belle frowned at her laptop as her Skype call went unanswered for the third time in five minutes. She glanced at the time to be sure she wasn’t off by an hour and, sure enough, she was right on time, but Gold was no where to be seen. It was unlike him to be late for their meetings and she started to worry that something had happened.

She waited two minutes then clicked on the call button one more time only to be startled by a frantic Gold wrapped in a fluffy white towel around his waist, leaning over his desk and breathing as if he’d just been running. His hair was plastered in wet ropes around his face and neck, dripping at the ends sending tiny rivulets down his shoulders and chest. His very nice, very toned, very much _shirtless_ chest.

Hnnnnnnnnnnggggggggghhhhh.

“Uhhh,” Belle sputtered, looking anywhere but that one drop that was running straight towards a small, tight bud of a nipple, but no matter where she directed her eyes, they landed on something that looked warm and wet. “Did I call at a bad time?” she asked, her voice unnaturally high.

He glanced at the corner of his monitor, where, she supposed, his clock was and shook his head. “No, I’m the one who was late. I’m sorry, I just needed to wash the dust out of my hair.”

“A little spring cleaning?”

“Just restoring a chiffarobe. I think the cobwebs were holding it together,” he said with grimace. “I didn’t want you to wait any longer so I ran from the shower when I heard the computer ringing.”

Hnnnnnnnnnnnnnnngggggggggggghh.

Belle swallowed and nodded quickly. “Okay. I’ll just, uh, go get something to drink from the… from the, uh… the kitchen.”

“Call you back in about five?”

Belle nodded with a smile that must have looked like she swallowed a live pufferfish. “Yeah. Five.”

He smiled his thanks and signed off, releasing her from her trance.

Belle set her laptop aside and scrambled off her couch towards the kitchen. She _would_ get a big glass of ice water. And then dump it on her head.

* * *

**After the end**

“Are you sure you’re okay with this,” Gold asked for the third time.

They were strolling hand in hand down Main Street, pretending not to see the stares and outright gaping of the people they’d passed on the sidewalk. Belle didn’t really understand it, Matthew had mentioned being a bit of a loner in town, but this was ridiculous. Bae had run up ahead half a block - too cool to walk with his dad, but not yet allowed out of his sight. The boy seemed to be fine when Belle showed up at their house dressed for a day fishing at the dock, but he didn’t say much beyond, “hey,” and, “sure,” eyeing her with a weird sort of fascination people usually reserved for ant farms or bees.

“I’m fine, Matthew,” she said, swinging their arms back and forth in long, swooping arcs. “I’m glad you asked me to come with you. It means a lot to me.” She watched as Bae waited for them at the corner, then, “He, um… Bae doesn’t seem too happy that I’m here. Do you think I should leave?” she asked, biting her lip as she looked up at her boyfriend.

“Inviting you was his idea,” he said, the corner of his lip curling up into a fond smile. “He likes you, Sweetheart, he’s just a bit shy and, uh, he’s not used to sharing me with anyone else,” he continued with a delicate flush to his cheeks.

Belle stared at him for a moment before mentally shaking herself out of her reverie. “That’s… that’s reassuring,” then hastily added, “I mean, I’m glad that he wanted me to come, not that you haven’t been, uh, shared.”

Gold threw his head back and laughed — very nearly a cackle if truth be told, causing several people to come running to storefront windows in order to watch the phenomenon.

“He’ll open up sometime around one and then we won’t get him to shut up, you’ll see,” he told her, taking her hand to brush a soft kiss on her knuckles. Belle could have sworn she heard the distinctive crash of someone dropping an entire box of light bulbs inside the hardware store.

“Your town is really strange, you know that?” 

 


End file.
